


the piano man’s playing some old melody

by littlervoice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pianist Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlervoice/pseuds/littlervoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a piano player. One day his neighbour puts in a request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the piano man’s playing some old melody

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what this is i'm sorry
> 
> written after i saw [this](http://actualmodel.tumblr.com/post/126244502008/one-of-my-neighbours-slipped-this-under-my-door) post on tumblr
> 
> also i have no knowledge of classical music at all so apologies if it's really inaccurate
> 
> title from "constellations" by tom odell

One day, when he makes it big, Harry’s going to buy himself a huge house in the middle of nowhere, without any neighbours in sight. It might be antisocial, and probably a bit inconvenient, but at least he’ll be able to play his piano to his heart’s content without having to worry about being kicked out.

But that’s one day. Not right now.

Right now he’s working his way round every one-bed flat in the city that’s both affordable yet big enough to house his second-hand piano at the same time.

Turns out spacious and affordable tend not to be mutually exclusive when it comes to renting property, and after being evicted from his last three flats due to noise complaints Harry’s more than a bit worried he’ll end up on the street sooner, rather than later.

_They say third time’s a charm, but maybe it’s been fourth all along_ , Harry thinks as he unlocks his front door, dumps his coat and makes his way straight to the piano over by the far window.

Most evenings he finishes work at six, can make it home by half-past if makes it to the bus stop quick enough to catch the eight minutes past service, leaving him a two hour window to practice playing to his heart’s content. He always makes sure to be finished by half eight. No matter how into the music he is, no matter how many times the two hours doesn’t feel long enough, he always makes himself stop. He doesn’t want to be completely inconsiderate.

And it seems to be working.

Three months he’s been here and not one complaint so far. Although it probably helps that he lives on the first floor. The shop below closes before he gets home from work, meaning he only has the flat next door and the flat above him to worry about – and with the gentleman in the flat upstairs being deaf, Harry doesn’t really have to worry about him at all.

Just next door. Harry doesn’t really know anything about the guy who lives there at all; they seem to run on completely different schedules which has never given them the opportunity to meet. The only reason Harry even knows someone actually lives there is thanks to the occasional chatter he hears in the hallway when his neighbour has visitors.

Harry finds his neighbour’s silence a bit worrying. He’s scared that one day his landlord will show up and kick him out thanks to a complaint from someone he’s never even seen, let alone spoken to. But oh well, worry about that later. When it happens.

_If it happens_ , Harry thinks carefully.

Once seated at his piano Harry quickly settles into some Chopin for a while. Then he decides to try some Satie, but his sheet music isn’t where he thought it was. Three months later and his stuff is still all over the place, with absolutely zero organisation about it. Deciding what he’s looking for is probably in one of his folders on the bookshelf by the front door, Harry goes over to take a look.

When he gets there there’s a slip of paper pushed under the door, folded neatly in half so Harry can’t see what’s written on it. He stoops to pick it up, slowly so that he can brace himself for what’s coming: the coward’s complaint. Too scared to confront Harry in person so they do it via a passive aggressive note hastily shoved under the doorway.

When Harry unfolds the paper he’s pleasantly surprised. It’s not even close to a complaint. Instead, scrawled in red ink, it reads: _a humble request? I’d love for you to play Beethoven – Fur Elise_

Harry has to read the piece of paper three more times just to make sure that he’s got it right and that it really isn’t a complaint. Then he rolls his eyes slightly at the song choice. Of course it’s _Fur Elise_. One of the most obvious, well-known classical pieces. Harry guesses it’s the only classical piece his neighbour knows by name.

Still, the prospect of actually having an audience for once (even if it is only made up of one member) excites Harry, so he dumps the folder back on the shelf, Satie forgotten all of a sudden, and returns to his piano where he wastes no time granting his neighbour’s wishes.

When he finishes at eight-thirty on the dot, Harry has a huge grin on his face. He may not have an audience applauding and cheering his name, but he can still feel a rush of pride and a sense of achievement swell up inside of him.

-

From that night on Harry’s neighbour continues to slip requests under Harry’s front door. Not every night, but every once in a while over the next month, asking Harry to play a range of things from more Beethoven to Liszt. One night Harry even picks up a note which says _can I be cheeky and ask for some Top 40? ;)_

Harry always obliges. Even if it means having to sift through mountains of sheet music until he finds what he needs, or sometimes (illegally) downloading it onto his iPad.

It’s always worth it when he knows he’s making somebody else happy with his music.

-

They finally meet mid-November.

Work’s picking up for Harry now that it’s nearing the busy Christmas period so he agrees to pick up some extra shifts. It screws his whole schedule up and leaves him no time to practice some nights but it’s worth the money.

He leaves the flat at half-one, mentally preparing himself for what will probably end up being a ten-plus hour shift. Then he returns home not five minutes later, realising halfway to the bus stop that he’d forgotten both his name badge and apron. Last time he did it he’d gotten a complete bollocking from his manager, in clear view of all his other co-workers, and he’d rather not risk having that happen again. If only to save face, rather than his job.

Harry quickly runs into his flat and grabs what he needs. Just as he’s locking the door again he hears his neighbour’s door slam shut too.

“So you must be the famous piano player.”

“Definitely a piano player,” Harry says, “still working on the famous part though, I’m afraid.” He turns around to put a face to the voice. It’s not at all what he expected.

He expected someone maybe similar to himself, perhaps even older, judging by all the requests they’d given him and their admittedly quite broad knowledge of classical music. But instead he’s face to face with a guy his age with scruffy bleached hair, dressed in a hoody and, for some reason, a pair of shorts – despite the cold outside.

Definitely not who Harry pictured to be slipping notes under his front door.

“Well you’re famous in my flat,” his neighbour says. He gives Harry an easy-going smile. “I’m Niall. Your neighbour of almost five months now, and somehow we’ve never met?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m Harry.” He shakes Niall’s hand because he doesn’t know what else to do. “And now we _have_ met.”

“And I’m glad we did,” Niall says, then after a beat, “Listen, I’m sorry about the whole requesting songs thing.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Harry assures him.

“I didn’t think you’d actually, like, respond; I guess I just got a bit brave with myself. I hope you don’t think I was being rude. I–”

“It’s fine Niall, really.” Harry pushes his sleeve out the way and glances at his watch. He’s definitely going to be late to work at this rate. “Look, I’m really gonna have to go,” he says, already taking a few steps backwards to the staircase down to the street. “Any other day I’d love to stay and chat but I’m ridiculously late for work. I’ve already missed my bus. Can probably make it if I run, though.” At this point he’s pretty much talking to himself, only semi-aware that to Niall it probably sounds like he’s just reeling off a half-assed excuse to leave.

“I can give you a lift if you like.” Niall takes a set of keys out his pocket and jangles them at Harry. “Got my own car,” he says, and Harry had always wondered who the piece-of-shit car constantly parked on the street outside belonged to.

A dozen thoughts flash through Harry’s mind about getting into cars with strangers, but instead he finds himself saying, “That’d be helpful. Thanks.” Besides, they’re not strangers anymore – he knows Niall’s name and that’s good enough for Harry.

Despite looking like it’s days away from a trip to the scrapyard, Niall’s car actually runs pretty well. It even starts up first time and Niall holds his hand out for a victory high five when the engine coughs to life.

Harry gives Niall directions in between inspecting Niall’s music collection. He knows he’s being rude, shunning conversation in order to pry, but it’s just so intriguing. Who knew you could buy Mumford & Sons on cassette tape in 2015?

_Apparently Niall does_ , Harry thinks as he shoves the tape into the slot and hits play.

Niall pulls up to the kerb outside Harry’s work two minutes before his shift starts. “Perfect timing. Thank you,” Harry says.

“No problem.” Niall reaches for the dial to turn the music down. “Hopefully not the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

He has this look in his eyes so Harry’s quick to respond _hope not_ before he gets out the car, slamming the door behind him and offering Niall a slight wave over his shoulder as he disappears into the restaurant.

-

It’s not the last time he sees Niall.

They start seeing each other in the hallway more often, stopping for a quick hello and a catch up. Sometimes Harry will help Niall up the stairs with his groceries. And sometimes vice versa.

And then somehow they get into the routine of checking their post at the same time every Saturday.

Two minute conversations turn into ten minute conversations and Harry learns a fair bit about Niall. Like that he’s over in London because he’s doing his PhD (and avoiding being a responsible adult with a responsible adult job) and that his grandad was the one to thank for his classical music knowledge.

“He left me a bunch of records and tapes and CDs when he died,” Niall says one morning. “Course my brother got the car and I got all this shitty music cluttering up my room. Granted, I wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but still. I refused to listen to any of it for the longest time, but then when I moved over here for uni my mum made me decide. Did I wanna keep it or chuck it? So I ended up keeping it and listening to it all back-to-back one weekend before I came over. Turned out some of it was quite beautiful. So I kept listening.” He sorts through the stack of envelopes in his mailbox and then turns back to Harry with a grin. “Some of it was absolute shite, though.”

-

It’s almost nine-thirty when Niall knocks on Harry’s door, inviting him over for dinner. Fresh out of the shower, Harry pretends to deliberate his answer for a while, but in actual fact he’s rather grateful for the offer. His fridge is looking a bit bare at the moment.

“I accidentally ordered too much food,” Niall explains. “And if you don’t come help me I’ll probably end up trying to eat it all to myself, and I know for a fact it will only end badly.”

Harry doesn’t know where to begin. “How do you accidentally–”

“I couldn’t decide if I wanted the meat feast or the vegetarian so I ended up ordering both, okay?” Niall’s cheeks turn a dusty pink. “And although I am a man of many talents, the ability to eat two large pizzas by myself is sadly not one of them.”

“Couldn’t you just order one of them special half and half ones?”

Niall pushes himself off Harry’s doorway and heads back to his own flat. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Harry,” he yells over his shoulder.

After they finish their pizza Niall makes Harry stay and watch some _Game of Thrones_ reruns on TV with him. Harry’s never seen the show before, has absolutely no idea what’s going on, but Niall’s sofa is comfier than his so he’s more than happy to stay where he is, um-ing and ah-ing and agreeing in all the right places with Niall’s running commentary.

“So I was wondering,” Harry says. It’s been something he’s been thinking about for a while.

Niall digs around the sofa cushions for the remote and presses pause. “What’s up?”

“My mum got me two tickets to see the symphony. Early Christmas present, I think she thinks I have a secret boyfriend,” Harry explains. “But all my friends either hate classical music or already have tickets. And I definitely don’t have a secret boyfriend. So I thought maybe you’d want to come with me? As– Not as my boyfriend, I mean. As friends. Because you’re my friend.”

“Thank you for clearing that up for me.” Niall’s amused expression lingers for a second and then turns into something softer. “I’d love to go. Just give me the time and place and I’ll be there.”

-

The symphony is fantastic.

Harry and Niall get dressed up to the nines (“we have to go all out Harry, it’s the symphony, we can’t just half-ass it”) and they look completely out of place but Harry doesn’t care.

(They also look a bit like they’re on a date, and Harry doesn’t know what to think about that. So he tries not to.)

Throughout the show he finds his fingers playing along to the music, hands dancing along the invisible piano in front of him, and several times Niall reaches out and stills Harry’s hands, gently pushing them back to his lap while raising an eyebrow and nodding his head at the annoyed gentleman on Harry’s other side.

During the interval Niall returns to their seats with a pint in each hand and a grin on his face and Harry has to laugh because everyone else as far as the eye can see is cradling a glass of wine or champagne, or something equally as fancy.

On the walk home they stop off at one of the market stalls that sells mulled wine and they share a drink, passing the plastic cup back and forth while Niall ribs Harry for constantly annoying the man sat next to him.

“You probably ruined his whole night, Harry. Been waiting all this time for this symphony then he ends up sat next to the guy who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“Well at least I didn’t end up tipping half my pint into some random lady’s handbag!”

“Oh well. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Niall says with a laugh, and then buttons up his coat to set off walking again.

Back at the flat Harry doesn’t want the night to be over. So he invites Niall inside.

“So I finally get to see where the magic happens,” Niall says, miming playing the piano as he walks through Harry’s door.

“If you’re lucky I might even give you a private show,” Harry winks. He doesn’t even stutter when he says it. He’ll have to thank the alcohol for that.

Harry pours them each a drink and then leads Niall to the piano. They sit side by side on the piano stool, thighs pressed together. Harry takes a swig of his drink and places his glass on top of the piano. He turns to look at Niall and Niall is already looking back. They’re a lot closer than Harry anticipated and it makes his head swirl a bit.

“Any requests?”

“Something Christmassy,” Niall muses, fiddling with the glass in his hand.

Harry plays a few scales, just messes about on the keys before he settles on _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_. By the time the second verse comes around he’s singing along. He’ll have the alcohol to thank for that, too.

Niall watches Harry’s hands intently, eventually finishing his drink and joining in with the sing-along. He sings with a much softer voice than Harry expected.

But they still go well together.

-

They don’t see each other again until well into the New Year. Niall goes back to Ireland for the rest of the holiday period and Harry goes home to his mum’s for a few days. He makes sure to send Niall little clips of him playing the piano each day, though. _Wouldn’t want you getting withdrawal symptoms_ he texts.

Niall knocks on Harry’s door one January evening, waiting until after Harry’s finished playing to visit, of course.

“Sounding good as always,” he greets when Harry opens the door.

“Thank you.” Harry opens the door wider and takes a step back to let Niall in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Got a proposal for you,” Niall says, brushing some papers aside to make room on Harry’s cluttered sofa. “More like returning a favour actually, I suppose.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, _go on._

“Come to the football with me?” Niall must see the look on Harry’s face because he continues, “I know it’s not really your thing, but I didn’t think going to symphonies was _my_ thing until I went. And I kind of owe you for the ticket you gave me so…”

“You don’t owe me anything, Niall. I invited you ‘cause I wanted you to come.”

“Exactly,” Niall says. “And that’s what this is. I want you to come see what _I’m_ into.”

-

Harry agrees to go, even though the match is on a weekday and he had to beg the day off work to do so.

Niall has some fancy tickets which reserves him a couple of seats near the front of the stand (“your mum isn’t the only one who buys her son tickets for Christmas, Harry”) and it’s a bit close for comfort. Harry could probably reach out and touch some of the players if he wanted.

By the second half of the match Harry’s so cold he feels like his fingers are going to fall off. Even the steaming cup of coffee Niall had bought him didn’t help stop the chattering of his teeth. He’s been eyeing up the scarf in Niall’s hands for the past five minutes and eventually he just gives up, tugging it from Niall’s grasp and wrapping it around his neck.

He’s busying himself with straightening it out, making sure the team emblem is on show, when a bunch of people in the crowd around him start getting louder all of a sudden. Harry looks up in time just to be smacked square in the face with the ball. It hurts like hell for the rest of the game but it’s almost worth it for the way Niall gently takes his face in his hands to inspect for any damage, and then spends the rest of the match with one eye on the pitch and one eye on Harry to make sure he’s still okay.

Niall insists Harry comes in when they get back home.

“Feel kinda bad that I invited you out only for you to get whacked in the face,” he says when they get to his front door. “Plus I’m not entirely convinced you don’t have concussion. That ball got you pretty good.”

“Sorry, who are you again?” Harry jokes. His eyes are crinkling with laughter as Niall opens the door shoves him through. “Hey, careful,” Harry protests, “I’m already damaged goods.”

They settle on Niall’s sofa, each with a cup of tea in hand and the telly gently buzzing in the background. (Harry turns down Niall’s offer of an ice pack for his face.)

“So all this practicing,” Niall starts. “It just for fun, or?”

“No,” Harry answers, resting his cup back on the saucer in his hand. “I mean, it is fun, I do enjoy it of course. But I have a few auditions coming up this year. Probably wouldn’t be playing as much if I didn’t.”

“Auditions?” Niall tucks his legs under himself, turns so he’s facing Harry properly. “For what?”

“Orchestras. I auditioned for a couple last year but they said I was too young, to try again this year. So I am,” Harry shrugs. “Think I can really make something of it this year.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He has a wistful smile playing at his lips, the way he always seems to whenever he thinks about his future these days. “Not to sound big-headed or anything,” he adds quickly.

“No, I get it,” Niall says. He smiles at Harry and it makes Harry feel like Niall really believes in him. “It’s good that you’re confident. Hell, if I was as good at piano as you I’d shout it from the rooftops. Wouldn’t stop playing the bloody thing.”

Harry tries to hide the blush on his cheeks by bringing his cup to his mouth.

-

A couple of days before Harry’s birthday Niall shows up on his doorstep with an envelope.

“Figured I’d give you this now, I’m away this weekend.”

Harry makes a right meal of opening the envelope under Niall’s watchful gaze. “Wait, I didn’t––how’d you even know it was my birthday?”

“Facebook,” Niall clarifies. “’Bout the only thing it’s useful for these days, innit?”

“You been stalking me?” Harry messes.

“Only a little bit.” Niall points to the half opened envelope. “Hurry up then, I haven’t got all day.”

It’s a card with a silly pun on it which makes Harry laugh, and then when he opens it two tickets slide out. He manages to catch them before they flutter to the ground, and on closer inspection he realises they are tickets to see the BBC Concert Orchestra performing at the Royal Albert Hall in a week’s time. And very expensive tickets, at that.

Harry’s lost for words. He looks up at Niall’s hesitant smile and he feels his heart grow about three sizes. He can’t recall the last time anyone did anything as nice as this for him – not after knowing him for such a short period of time. He doesn’t think even his mum would spend that much money on tickets for him.

“I saw how much you enjoyed it when we went at Christmas, so.”

“Niall–”

“They’re not the best seats but–”

“But they must have cost you an arm and a leg. _God_ , Niall.”

Niall’s absolutely beaming at this point. “Like them?”

“Like them–? Niall, I love them. Thank you so much. _So_ much. I don’t know what to–– you know you didn’t have to, right?”

“I know,” Niall shrugs, “but I wanted to. And besides, I won’t lie and say it was _all_ for your benefit. There was a reason I got two tickets.” He puts on an angelic smile. “You don’t have to take me, but I was kinda hoping you would?”

“Of course I’m taking you,” Harry scoffs.

-

He takes Niall and they dress up all fancy again and drink pints again, and they look like they’re on a date again.

But this time it feels like they’re on a date too, with the way Niall’s hand settles on Harry’s back as he guides him through the door and the way their fingers keep brushing against each other’s on the walk home, Niall choosing to stick close to Harry’s side even though they have the whole pavement to themselves.

By the time they get back to their building Niall’s fingers have tangled themselves with Harry’s, their hands fitting together in a way Harry’s never imagined before.

And then Niall pretty much confirms it is a date by leaning in and kissing Harry. It’s gentle at first and it gives Harry butterflies, but then suddenly Niall’s walking them backwards, mouths still attached, until Harry’s back hits the door with a gentle thud.

Harry doesn’t go back to his own flat until the following evening.

-

Harry has his first audition in March. He goes and he plays a piece by Mozart and even though he doesn’t explicitly mess up he knows it’s not his best.

The judging panel agrees.

When he gets home he goes straight to Niall’s flat, and Niall shoves the paper he was working on to one side and comes to sit beside Harry on the sofa, pulling Harry’s feet into his lap.

“How was it?”

“Not good,” Harry frowns. “Turned me down on the spot.”

Niall squeezes Harry’s calf almost instinctively. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, even though it’s not. He’s done nothing but practice for an entire year, exactly like they said, and to be told he’s still not good enough fucking sucks. He doesn’t know what more he could’ve done.

“I s’pose competition’s just high for these things,” Niall consoles him, rubbing his hand up and down Harry’s shin before pushing Harry’s legs away. “C’mon,” he says, standing up and holding his hand out to Harry. “Let’s go drown your sorrows in cheap cake and rubbish Netflix,” he says, and then tugs Harry to his bedroom.

Harry’s too upset to refuse even though he knows that they’ll only end up getting crumbs all over Niall’s bed.

-

After he fails his second audition Niall takes Harry down to the pub to drown his sorrows for real.

It was a bad idea from the start, really. Harry’s never been much good at holding his drink, one is usually enough, but when he’s sad and Niall keeps returning to their table with fresh pints, drinking them all seems like the only logical option.

Until somehow he finds himself in the middle of an argument about his audition song choice, because Niall suddenly seems to think he knows better than Harry.

“I’m just saying that maybe it’s less about showing off every little thing you can do and more about _how_ you actually play, y’know?”

“I’m not _showing off_ ,” Harry scoffs.

“I never said you were. I’m just saying. Maybe you should play Satie – like that time you played it for me. Maybe they want–”

“No, Niall, that’s not what they’re after. They don’t– you don’t get it,” Harry barks, unwilling to let Niall have the last word. “You don’t know what they want.”

“Well clearly neither do you,” Niall snaps.

The tone of Niall’s words makes Harry physically recoil, like he’s just slapped Harry round the face. He’s never heard Niall sound so…bitter. Harry puts his half-empty glass down. Niall, on the other hand, picks his up and takes a drink.

They stare each other down in silence for a couple of minutes until Niall sighs, his eyes softening ever so. “Harry–”

“No it’s fine,” Harry says sharply. He shoves his chair out and stands up. “I have to practice. I’ll see you later.”

Niall doesn’t mention that it’s almost midnight. He just watches Harry go.

-

Harry learns pretty quickly that it’s kind of hard to avoid someone when you live in the same building as them. But that doesn’t stop him from giving it a bloody good try.

And after a lot of tiptoeing around and numerous hasty retreats back into the flat, Niall gets the message and leaves Harry alone.

-

Harry’s next audition isn’t until June, so he throws himself into practice, practice, practice, until he’s pretty sure he could play his audition piece backwards in his sleep.

He comes to the conclusion that it’s a good thing he and Niall broke up. Niall was starting to become a distraction, he’d ended up shunning his practice time in order to spend it with Niall far too many times after they became a thing.

At least he thinks it’s a break up. They never really talked about it or put a label on their relationship, so Harry’s not sure what to call it. He’d called Niall his boyfriend once, the time he was on the phone to his mum and he was testing how the word felt on his tongue. But never since.

Whatever it was it’s over now, and Harry easily falls back into the habit of practicing every evening again. Even if he does spend half the time wondering if Niall’s listening next door.

-

The night before his final audition Harry is nervous as hell. This is his last shot and he knows that if he screws this one up he’ll probably have to give up completely on his dream, maybe settle with being a music teacher or something instead, but anyone that knows Harry knows that that’s never what he’s wanted to do.

He’s tempted to go knock on Niall’s door. Niall always seemed to be able to talk some sense into Harry whenever he was being irrational, he usually knew the right thing to say. Harry makes it out into the hallway before he talks himself out of the idea. Instead he settles on a hot shower and an early night, even though his audition isn’t until late afternoon.

-

The spotlight trained on Harry makes him feel uncomfortable. He can already feel beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead, but whether that’s down to the nerves – which seem a hundred times worse this time round – or the sheer heat beaming down from the light, Harry couldn’t say. Probably both.

“And what will your audition piece be?”

Harry looks up at the four judges sat side by side about seven or eight rows up in the stalls. He can’t make out much detail, can only really see their silhouettes. He couldn’t tell you their ages or what colour hair they each have. Four indistinguishable shadows upon whom Harry’s fate rests.

“I, uh.” Harry looks back down at the keys in front of him. There are a million thoughts swirling round his head, all fighting for his attention. He makes a snap decision. “I’m going to be playing _Je Te Veux_ by Satie.”

“Very well. Whenever you’re ready. Good luck.”

There’s nothing in the judge’s voice to suggest Harry’s made a bad choice, so he takes a deep breath and wills his hands to stop shaking. Then he plays.

-

The first thing Harry does after he receives his acceptance letter is call his mum. The second thing he does is go over to Niall’s. He knocks on the door for a good five minutes before deciding that Niall’s probably ignoring him. He knows he’s in. He heard him come home. He’d been listening out for Niall all afternoon.

With a sigh Harry tries knocking one more time. It works. Niall pulls open the door to reveal himself standing there with wet hair, wearing a t-shirt covered in damp patches. He’s obviously come straight out of the shower.

“Harry.” He sounds surprised, but not angry.

“Mind if I come in?”

Wordlessly, Niall lets go of the door and starts walking towards his living room. Harry takes that as his cue to follow. They go into Niall’s kitchen, the two of them perched awkwardly against opposite counters as Harry fiddles with the letter that’s still in his hands.

Niall’s eyes go down to the envelope, reminding Harry why he’s here.

“I got in.”

A small smile appears on Niall’s face. “That’s– congratulations. Knew you would.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“Harry–”

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry repeats. “You were right.”

“I was?” Niall frowns.

“I played _Je Te Veux_ ,” Harry says. “I got up there and I realised you were right. Music’s about making people feel things, and my original choice. Well, I dunno. Just didn’t make me feel anything. Like, I could play the most difficult song in the world perfectly – note for note – but it wouldn’t matter if I had no connection to the song,” Harry tries to explain. “And Satie, well, it reminded me of you. When I performed it up on that stage it’s like the judges could tell what it meant to me. So I’m sorry. Sorry for saying you were wrong, and sorry for ignoring you for all this time. I was stupid.”

“You were a bit,” Niall agrees, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “But I’m sorry too. Music is _your_ thing, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Not when I don’t really have a bloody clue about classical music – at least not compared to you, you bigshot orchestra pianist.”

Harry feels his cheeks begin to colour so he ducks his head to hide it. Despite not seeing Niall for the better part of two months, a simple compliment from him can still make Harry feel all warm and pleasant inside. He wants to say thank you, he knows he should, but Niall moves across the kitchen to lean against the counter next to him so he keeps his mouth shut.

“So, now that you got in. What does this mean?” Niall knocks his elbow into Harry’s gently and Harry hears the implied _about us_ at the end of the question.

Harry meets Niall’s eye with a smile. “Means you’ll have to put up with me practicing a hell of a lot more from now on.” It’s not the direct answer Niall is probably hoping for, but Harry hopes he understands anyway.

“I think I can cope with that,” Niall grins. “Just give me a few days to get my requests ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> one day i'll be able to come up with a semi-decent ending for my stories
> 
> littlervoice.tumblr.com


End file.
